Looking Forward, Looking Back
by wwff372
Summary: Sam's feeling introspective and just a teensy bit jaded. Or: Sam's reflections on the Bartlet Administration's first 100 days.


_Disclaimer: The West Wing and all associated characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and not myself, sadly._  
_Author's Note: Many thanks to Velvet Starlight for the correction! Also, I'm sorry for perpetuating the "dumb blonde" stereotype..._

There was something about Washington, DC in the spring. As the capital of the free world, the District of Columbia got thousands of tourists each season; but, in Sam's opinion, if they didn't come between February and May they were missing something. Something integral. He understood, though; his thin California blood sometimes still balked at the prospect of rain and temperatures below 60°. He didn't imagine that the scores of school children fared much better.

There was a group of them nearby. It was past 10 p.m. and rain fell sporadically, each drop momentarily illuminated by the streetlights above. The kids looked miserable, suffering from a combination of exhaustion and cold. Sam suspected those latter attributes, along with some youthful apathy, rather than a real reverence for the memorial made them quiet. Korea was about as real to them as the huge metal figures looming over them.

Sam sighed, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his coat. He was feeling cynical tonight. Ordinarily, his innate idealism would cast the kids in a more optimistic light- the Leaders of Tomorrow learning about their illustrious (and sometimes not so illustrious) history. But tonight, he saw them for what they were; or what Josh would say they were, anyway: a bunch of uninterested kids who had yet to experience the depravity of life.

But he knew better. Or maybe he'd just become a little more jaded. Usually, he counted his fresh-faced optimism as a beneficial attribute. But the Sam who stood there, cold and alone, felt all the disillusionment his relative idealism cost him. It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling. In fact, it sucked. Sam made a face, and a couple of the girls in the group giggled at him. When one of them pulled out her camera, he hasted down the path and out of their line of sight. The last thing he needed right now was to be seen moping around.

After all, things were going well. Relatively speaking. Bartlet had only been in office about 3 months; and though none of the past 100 days could be called easy, few of them could be called bad, either. So far, a successful first term.

But their popularity polls were slipping, and no one could understand why. CJ had tried asking Danny, but he played the politician better than the rest of them and wouldn't give her a straight answer. Toby huffed and attributed it to the President's repeated ad-libbing of speeches. Leo was too busy keeping the data away from the President to really look at it himself. And Josh was paying even less attention, determined to revel in the victory he'd just won on Capitol Hill. Keg of Glory, and all that.

Sam was the only one who knew why.

He didn't understand how it could be only him. But then again, no one else, except for maybe Toby and the President himself, knew as intimately as Sam did all the campaign promises they'd made- and broken. Sure, everyone knew the gist of Bartlet's policy; but Sam was the one who had tasted each word, befriended it, marshaled and coaxed it into place. He was the one who knew that "vow" wasn't quite the same thing as "promise," and he was the one who'd chosen to use the former, not the latter, in the President's inaugural address.

But no matter what synonym the President had used, it hadn't kept him from going back on his word.

Sam wasn't so naïve that he'd expected everything to go exactly according to plan. Politics were innately rife with compromises, and sometimes a few outright lies. But perhaps lie was too strong a word, in this case. At the time of the inauguration, the President really had been committed to eradicating poverty, improving education, raising the standard of living, etc, etc. Even now, Sam was sure Bartlet still felt strongly about all the issues they'd built their platform on.

But how much had they really accomplished?

There was going to be a special report on CNN the next day. It was a review of their first 100 days, a success gauge that first gained prevalence in the days of FDR. The report was supposedly largely commending, skimming over the administration's rough patches in favor of the high points. Bills passed, crises averted, speeches.

Sam sighed. Oh, yes, he knew about the speeches; one speech in particular, the inaugural address, which they were going to re-air during the segment.

At the time, that speech was Sam and Toby's pride and joy. But then about an hour ago Sam had looked over it for the first time since January, just to see. He wished he hadn't.

He'd expected to enter the White House, guns blazing, a flurry of hope and progress. He'd wanted to change the world. But instead he'd gotten his utilitarian almost-corner office-- not quite the expansive executive suit he'd left behind-- and an ever-increasing workload. It still didn't make sense to him that so much work could lead to so little change.

Sam had expected progress, but it felt like all he'd gotten were more words. And for the first time, they were letting him down.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm something of a…a… whatcha-call-it. Wordsmith!" Sam slurred. He was too drunk to appreciate the irony of the statement. It was difficult enough just focusing his eyes on the face of the woman beside him.

He'd crept into the bar a little after 11 and hadn't risen from the barstool since. The pretty blonde to his left didn't seem to mind, though, although Sam suspected she was more captivated by his boyish good looks than his scintillating conversation. She hadn't been able to keep up when he was sober, and even now that he was drunk she was barely hanging on to the thread of their conversation.

"I mean it, uh, Sarah," Sam continued. He realized belatedly that that wasn't her name, but she didn't bother correcting him. "I am really, really smart. You know?"

Sarah nodded sympathetically, but her eyes were glazed.

"Me, too," she replied.

And suddenly Sam couldn't stop laughing. He was gasping for air, grinning hugely, and he was probably being rude but she didn't seem to get it, she was laughing too, and then Sam was laughing so hard that it hurt. He had to get out of there.

"Listen…Katie," he began, wincing. He still couldn't remember her name. "It's been really… illuminating, talking with you. But I've gotta go now."

He lifted his hand in farewell and pushed himself up heavily. He barely started towards the door before swiveling back to her on impulse. Sam wasn't even sure what name he tried this time, but the blonde turned to him obediently.

"How do you feel about President Barlet?" he asked, all seriousness.

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Finally:

"He's kind of short, isn't he?"

And Sam was dashing for the exit before his laughter bubbled over again and he made even more of a fool of himself. Sam had always been a happy drunk, and he rode out the false joy the alcohol had warmed in him.

XXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't until he was stopped at the security desk that he realized where he was. In just a few months, his job had become his life, to the point that the White House almost seemed to have a magnetic pull on him. Even in his present state, apparently.

After fumbling for an embarrassingly long time with his wallet, Sam got through security and headed towards his office. He didn't _think_ he wanted to be there, but the damp walk hadn't quite cleared his head enough for him to be sure of his thoughts. He decided to just go with it.

He swayed a bit as he entered the Communications bullpen, feeling like he was back on his boat. He used to love sailing; probably still would, if he ever had the time for it. Sam decided he should make time for it. He pulled a post-it from Cathy's desk and wrote himself a note.

_To Do: SAIL _

He had a feeling it wasn't going to make much sense tomorrow morning. Or, rather, in about 5 hours. Sam blinked. The amount of sleep he got on average depressed him.

Just as he was carefully aligning the post-it with the computer monitor, he saw Josh enter the bullpen.

"Hello?" Josh called out, glancing around. "Why is- the light?..."

"Hey!" Sam called out. He raised one hand to get Josh's attention. The Deputy Chief of Staff strolled over, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"I thought you left," Josh commented, collapsing into the chair across Sam.

"I did." He left it at that. Josh didn't press, clearly distracted.

"What are _you_ still doing here?" Sam asked. He didn't really care, but asked anyway.

"I had to finish that thing," Josh answered, gesturing vaguely. Sam nodded like he understood.

Silence. Then:

"Do you ever wonder what we're doing here, Sam?"

Sam stared at his monitor and slowly nodded. He glanced up and saw Josh looking at him, troubled, clearly expecting elaboration. Sam closed his eyes.

"Sure, Josh. Sometimes it feels like we're not doing anything. Sometimes I wonder... I came here expecting to change the world. I think we all did. But we're..." he trailed off, floundering. He had a feeling he was supposed to have inserted some of his trademark optimism in there.

"Yeah. I know." Josh said it so quietly, Sam wasn't sure he'd spoken at all.

"But..." Sam hesitated. They were both wondering what he'd say next.

"But I guess we're doing the best we can." He looked bemused by his own words; but, as he had all night, he just went with it.

"We're not perfect, and god knows we haven't accomplished everything we set out to. But we try, and I don't think the country's any worse for it. We try, because that's what our forefathers expected of us- the pursuit of happiness. We try, and sometimes we win, but sometimes we lose. And we'll keep on doing the best we can, because that's all we can ever hope for."

Sam was a bit shell-shocked after his little speech, but he somewhat grudgingly realized what he'd said was true. He opened his eyes and waited for Josh's reaction.

"Yeah," Josh said, more loudly this time. Then, again.

"Yeah."


End file.
